Moving Forward.
There were any number of reasons to stop.
The hip gave little twinges of pain at odd intervals. Sometimes they were so small I wasn't quite sure if I imagined them, but then another one would come along and confirm their existence.
The back started to ache from the steady, cold soaking. Despite my best technical fabric and full fenders, the water slowly found a way in. Once in, it went to work.
The flags and leaves, weighed down with water, gave little indication of the wind, but you could tell it was there. I'd cast my head this way and that way to isolate it. Yeah, there it is. The knowledge of its origin did little for me. I just had to deal with it.
My butt, softened by months out of the saddle, was getting a sudden reintroduction to the realities of chafing. I'd stand and try to shift the fabric to lessen it, but any relief was temporary.
My legs weren't much better. They started out strongly enough, but now were starting to feel the effects of the cold rain. The knees were somewhat protected by fleece warmers, but the rest of the legs were pretty much at the mercy of the elements. They were also weak. I cursed their weakness, but I knew it wasn't their fault. It was mine.
An hour and forty minutes. That's all I could ride. It was my longest ride since the wreck, and I was wrecked after it was over. Pitiful.
Still, I'm riding. When I was riding through the rain, I knew I had to keep moving. Otherwise, it would be that much harder to get going again. Don't stop. Push through. It will get better eventually. You tell yourself this in the moment, and you only half-believe it. It's true, though.
You just have to keep moving forward.
The hip gave little twinges of pain at odd intervals. Sometimes they were so small I wasn't quite sure if I imagined them, but then another one would come along and confirm their existence.
The back started to ache from the steady, cold soaking. Despite my best technical fabric and full fenders, the water slowly found a way in. Once in, it went to work.
The flags and leaves, weighed down with water, gave little indication of the wind, but you could tell it was there. I'd cast my head this way and that way to isolate it. Yeah, there it is. The knowledge of its origin did little for me. I just had to deal with it.
My butt, softened by months out of the saddle, was getting a sudden reintroduction to the realities of chafing. I'd stand and try to shift the fabric to lessen it, but any relief was temporary.
My legs weren't much better. They started out strongly enough, but now were starting to feel the effects of the cold rain. The knees were somewhat protected by fleece warmers, but the rest of the legs were pretty much at the mercy of the elements. They were also weak. I cursed their weakness, but I knew it wasn't their fault. It was mine.
An hour and forty minutes. That's all I could ride. It was my longest ride since the wreck, and I was wrecked after it was over. Pitiful.
Still, I'm riding. When I was riding through the rain, I knew I had to keep moving. Otherwise, it would be that much harder to get going again. Don't stop. Push through. It will get better eventually. You tell yourself this in the moment, and you only half-believe it. It's true, though.
You just have to keep moving forward.
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